Free Wedded to War by Jocelyn Green Page B

‘silly women.’ You are brave. Or perhaps foolish, like me.”
    Dr. Blackwell smiled ruefully at her captivated, confused audience. “Many of you have come to me privately to tell me how eager you are to follow in my footsteps. I might as well tell you publicly, however, that my footsteps have not followed a straight path to get where I am today.” She paused. “You’ve heard the story, haven’t you? About how I was finally accepted into Geneva Medical College?”
    Charlotte felt her face grow warm. She was ashamed of the rumor, embarrassed to be brought face-to-face with it in front of the legendary Dr. Blackwell.
    “It was a joke. The admissions office wasn’t quite sure what to do with a woman’s application, so they put the question to the student body. The student body was convinced it was a practical joke—who had ever heard of a woman doctor, after all?—so they played along and voted me in. That’s all true. You see, I didn’t come to be a doctor based just on my skills and credentials. And if I had such trouble getting started, I’m afraid you’ll have much trouble being accepted in your positions, as well.” The women shifted their weight as Dr. Blackwell spoke.
    “I endured prejudice from my classmates and instructors. After I graduated, I was banned from practicing at most hospitals, so I went to France and trained at La Maternité and at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in London. Only after that did I come back and establish the infirmary here, with my sister Emily and Dr. Marie Zakrewska. But here is whatyou have working in your favor: like it or not, they need you. They need more people to help stem the tide of casualties, and if you are capable, your gender will not matter. In time, they must see that. You will succeed.” She nodded, punctuating her words with conviction. “You must succeed.”
    Dr. Blackwell stepped back now, and Charlotte felt the color drain from her face as the attending physician took over with orientation for their training.
If Dr. Blackwell had to fight so hard to be a doctor, how can I hope to be accepted as a nurse?
    With Dr. Blackwell’s words still ringing in her ears, Charlotte was paired with Mrs. Harriet Dowell, another trainee, and assigned to Dr. Winston Markoe’s ward.
    “No fainting. No shrieking. No tears.” Dr. Markoe laid the ground rules as they followed him up to the second floor of the hospital. “Keep a sharp eye, write down anything you don’t want to forget, and cork down any of displays of emotions you might feel rising to the surface.” Tall and lanky, Dr. Markoe paused at the top of the stairs to allow them to catch up. He looked over the top of his spectacles down the beak of his nose at them with small, close-set black eyes. “Understand?”
    Charlotte and Mrs. Dowell nodded.
    “Good. Try to keep up. It will do you good to just become familiar with the cases for now. Lectures and more specific instruction will come later.”
    Dr. Markoe turned and walked briskly to his first patient.
    “How are we today, Briggs?”
    Briggs didn’t respond. He didn’t even open his eyes. Dr. Markoe pulled his stethoscope out and listened to his heart rate.
    “One hundred twenty beats a minute. Adam Briggs, chronic diarrhea, age nineteen,” the doctor said. “What observations can you make by just looking at him?”
    “He must have lost a great deal of weight,” ventured Charlotte. The boy’s skin hung loosely over wasted muscles. His features looked pinched.
    “Yes, sixty pounds, at least, have melted off his six-foot frame since the onset. What else?”
    “His coloring isn’t quite right.” Mrs. Dowell squinted at his complexion.
    “That opaque clay color comes from the disease,” said Dr. Markoe.
    Charlotte leaned in a little closer now, hugging her notebook to her chest. “What’s on his skin?”
    “Furfuraceous desquamation of epithelium.”
    Charlotte stepped back.
    “The poor dear is quite gone with it, then isn’t he?” Mrs.